


La Bellatrix

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-23
Updated: 2007-07-31
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Ficlette on Bellatrix.





	1. The Early Punishment of Bellatrix

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

          When the knobby old house-elf knocked on the great door of the bedroom and went slinking inside, he was ambushed by an antique lamp fashioned of swirling dark glass. Thrown by a child’s hand, it crashed ineffectually against the door, but the elf drew back and shrank.

            “Miss Bellatrix, miss, you must allow me to—”

            “I’m not letting you do anything!” hollered the little girl, perhaps five or six, who perched like a little savage on the end of her spacious four-poster, clutching the green drapes of the canopy. “I want to wear my nightdress!”

            “Miss Bellatrix, Mistress Druella has said again and again that you must be dressed befitting one of your station—”

            “OUT, OUT, ELF!” screamed Bellatrix at the top of her little lungs. The miniature chaise lounge where her day clothes were usually placed was overturned, and a ribbon, smart dress, and uncomfortable lacy undergarments were strewn over a chair leg.

            “’Tis the task of the house-elf to make Mistress Druella’s daughters pretty and—”

            “DON’T TOUCH ME!” she yelled, and she threw a black onyx thestrel figurine at the Black family house-elf. A shaft of morning sunlight peeked through the draped window and showed a slash of Bellatrix’ head. Her eyes were flashing jewels in her feral little face, which was bony and vicious; her wild black hair made her look even more like a free beast. Even so, even with the horrible temper that flared into life through every feature of her wiry body, even with the uncontrollable rages that overcame her every so often, she was destined to be beautiful someday.

            “Please, miss,” tried the elf, dodging the figurine and working a little way into the spacious bedroom. “Miss Andromeda is already dressed—”

          Evidently, this was one of the last things Bellatrix wanted to hear. A slightly insane twitch quivered once on her face. She screwed up her snarling red mouth.

            “GET OUT OF MY ROOM, NOW!”

            “But you must—”

            “ARRRGH!”

           With a howl of fury, the child threw herself at the elf. She caught the poor creature around the throat, and they fell into the hallway, scrabbling and wrestling. The force of her anger gave her the strength to close her small hands over the elf’s neck as the household slave writhed, unable to hurt her and yet trying to escape. Bellatrix was shouting, some things intelligible, some just foul, as she tried to knock the elf’s egg-shaped head into a delicately-shaped ebony end table.

          Soft footsteps sounded on the carpet in the narrow hall. A shadow of a man’s shape fell lightly on the scene. The elf’s eyes goggled and rolled.

            “Elf, to the kitchen.”

           With a wheeze, the house-elf Disapparated alone, leaving Bellatrix to scream and pound her fists on the floor. She was riding the tantrum. She took a swipe at the end table and knocked off a mask crafted from a metal with an evil sheen. The grinning thing paused midair, and the wizard stowed his wand.

            “Come, Bellatrix.”

            “Father, I won’t, won’t, won’t—”

           Cygnus Black leaned down and boxed his daughter’s ears, boxed them _hard_ so that they rang, and she felt bile in her mouth and water on her vision. Bellatrix swallowed and lay in a daze.

            “Do you know why I didn’t use my foot?” he asked in his quiet voice. There was no answer. Cygnus picked Bellatrix upright by the neck of her nightdress and backhanded her, landing the blow on her thin shoulders. His answer came from the muffled huddle on the floor. A cold wash of pain cooled her rage.

            “Because I am not the house-elf.”

            “Exactly.”

           Again, Cygnus reached down (she shivered as he did) and plucked Bellatrix to her feet. With his hand tightly on her wrist, he dragged her unresistingly down the hall, up a flight of stairs, and through a black door.

          Sunlight was pouring inside this room, where one whole wall was a window that faced the park outside. The other three walls were covered in portraits, framed and mounted items of family value, and a large and majestic tapestry. At the foot of this article, Cygnus sat on a black velvet divan, and he placed Bellatrix on his knee. The spiraling script in neat silver thread filled the wavering scene in front of her. Her father was still gripping her arm uncomfortably.

            “Why did you attack the elf?” Something about his low voice warned Bellatrix not to shout, not to scream; besides, the fury had subsided.

            “I don’t want to wear the stuffy old clothes anymore.”

            “You would like to dress yourself?”

            Bellatrix hesitated because it wasn’t the same thing as wearing something else, but her intuition wasn’t so bad as to assume she was out of more serious trouble yet.

            “Yes.”

            “You know that your Grandmother Irma had sewn those dresses, correct?”

            “Yes, Father.”

            “Dresses that she gave your mother so that her granddaughters might look presentable and always fitting to their places in high society?”

            “Yes, Father.”

            The next blow was unexpected, but for that it hurt no less. Bellatrix cringed at the harsh slap on her arm, which showed up as a white handprint. Bellatrix had never before been struck while in the safe haven of her father’s lap.

            “You must wear those lovely dress robes. They are beautiful and expensive pieces and they were made for you by your grandmother.”

            “Y-yes, Father,” answered Bellatrix in a small voice, wiping her running nose on her shoulder.

            “What have I said?” asked her father’s soft voice. “What have I always said? Never dishonor the heirlooms of your family. Be proud, Bellatrix. Many young witches would kill to have clothes like those. They were not made to be comfortable. You will wear them until you outgrow them.”

            “Of course, Father.”

            “Good.” After a pause, Cygnus added thoughtfully, “I will speak to your mother about dressing you in the mornings. For now, you may remain in your nightdress.”

            Bellatrix nodded and gnawed her lip with her teeth. Another child might have smiled. The Black Family Tree yawned down from the wall, from its high place. Everything in its place at the Black home. If Bellatrix had been standing, she wouldn’t have been able to reach the top even on her tiptoes.

            Cygnus finally looked down at her. His dark eyes met hers briefly. He handed Bellatrix a silk handkerchief.

            “Clean up your face.”

            A moment passed when only sniffling was heard.

            “Now look up."

            Her eyes knew what to do, and Bellatrix gazed at the tapestry before her.

            “ _Toujours Pur_ , Bella. Your grandfather was Pollux Black.”

            “My grandfather was Pollux Black.”

            “His father was Cygnus Black.”

            “His father was Cygnus Black.”

            “Son of Phineas Nigellus Black.”

            “Son of Phineas Nigellus Black...”

            The sun outside climbed higher into the bright sky. Neither Bellatrix nor Cygnus moved from their seats. The silken handkerchief was damp and twisted, and Cygnus’ hand did not release her arm. They drilled the names in twice.

            Finally, Bellatrix was called for tea. Her father nodded his assent, and she crept into her room. Bellatrix entered the grand dining room ten minutes later in a pristine velvet dress sewn with black beads. The house-elf served her a cinnamon cake, and Bellatrix stirred her tea ever so slowly.

            Another part of her had been swallowed by that tapestry on the wall.

 

\---

 

Hello! This is my little profile on Bellatrix Lestrange, beginning now. I have read the last Harry Potter book, and I'd like to add at least two more chapters to this, because Bellatrix intrigued me for some reason. I dunno. What do you think?


	2. The First Love of Bellatrix

More water from her cupped hands. Splash, splash--maybe she needed it. A little extra icy reassurance. The clean, cool walls of her Hogwarts bathroom seemed out of place. Bellatrix' stomach jumped and fluttered uncomfortably. More cold water. She had ten minutes to go.

To give herself something to do more than anything, Bellatrix studied the face in the mirror. Fine black eyebrows that lay sleekly under the jet black streak of her shiny hair. Deeply hooded eyes framed with thick lashes. Pointed nose. Lips perhaps a bit thin, but bolstered by a sweet dimple on one side. Nothing cuddly about the chin or the cheekbones however. Now where was that makeup kit?

As Bellatrix rustled around a drawer in the wooden shelf for her creams and powders, another nervous ripple gnawed at her belly. She harshly bit back on her anxiety and almost broke the skin on her lip. Unreasonable anger seized her, but she was no stranger to anger. 

Bellatrix let the spell pass but couldn't resist slapping the dark porcelain snake statuette off the counter and letting it crash to the tiles. She growled and gripped the rim of the sink, her long white fingers flaring even whiter.

A knock on the door. She cursed. Who was stupid enough to come in here now when they knew she was inside? But the door opened anyway, and of course, that could only be one person. A young Narcissa slid in quietly and sat on the small seat near the window. Bellatrix did not turn around. Her sister's pale face was only a slip of moonlight draped in shadow, a splash of pearly cream behind Bellatrix' shoulder.

"You're really going," said Narcissa in a low, husky tone, as if the sisters were sharing secrets–sharing anything. "You don't have to, you know. Mother and Father wouldn't make you. They probably wouldn’t like it."

"What do you know about it?" snapped Bellatrix, rounding on her younger sister in a rage. She grabbed a small jar of cream and a dusky pad of blush and turned back to the mirror. "Besides, Mother and Father have nothing to do with it."

"When did they tell you that you would be marrying him?" Narcissa asked, still watching her sister with concern. Bellatrix didn't answer; she was smearing cream under her eyes.

So strange to think Rodolphus Lestrange was separated from her only by a few walls and some tapestries, when soon they wouldn't be separated by anything--

"Bellatrix, please, listen," tried Narcissa again. She was almost as smooth and composed at eleven as she would be for the rest of her life. "I heard Rodolphus talking to Mulciber. They all know about it, every single one of that gang knows." Bellatrix felt her face burn and she gritted her teeth. Who cared Who cared? _Who cared?_ "It can't be good to--"

"Shut up, Cissy!" hissed Bellatrix, slamming down a tube of lipstick. "You wouldn't know anything; you're just the little one--"

"So? You're a fifth-year, Bella!" cried Narcissa. "You don't know anything either! None of the girls do. Don't go see Rodolphus tonight--"

With a grimace, Bellatrix whirled around and hit Narcissa in the face. Narcissa teetered on her seat and fell silent, holding up a hand her stinging cheek. Her great headlamp eyes watered.

Coldly, Bellatrix turned again to her vanity and applied her rouge. The edginess had turned her temper against Narcissa, but the outbreak of violence had been a salve on her nerves. Bellatrix was able to decompress if she recalled all the reasons she couldn’t trust her baby sister. Narcissa was a twit, a simpering idiot of a _lady_ who couldn't be expected to understand these grown up thing. She was only in first year anyhow and her biggest foray into the world of the other sex had been making moony eyes at Lucius Malfoy and that filthy showoff Edgar Bones. Narcissa was a baby, a child, whereas she, Bellatrix, was practically a woman, and would prove that tonight. She wasn't scared, no, _never_ \--she hated the way fear felt--because really, this sex thing would be nothing at all.

If only it didn't have to be Rodolphus… Bellatrix congratulated herself on the cool detachment she used to examine the issue and the way her hand was steady on the eyeliner as her little sister sniffled. No. Rodolphus didn't do much for her. He was interested in the same things she was, yes, but he was just another Pureblood. Meaner than most, maybe, but he didn't reach into Bellatrix and pull out something exciting, something dark and mysterious and powerful and strange and passionate. Bellatrix knew (as Narcissa clearly had never known) a feeling of love from once before, a love drawn up only in a singular instance, strange as it may seem…

_They were in the Restricted Section. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Travers, Mulciber, Malfoy, and Rabastan Lestrange were all there. It was the a few days before the exams of Rabastan’s seventh year, and they had left dinner early._

_A light rain was leaving flecks on the enormous windows, and Bellatrix had imagined lightning crashing in her mind. A group of Slytherins, mixed years but not mixed blood, sitting in a circle behind tall wall of restricted books. A prohibited meeting after dusk. A topic that would never die for her._

_Bellatrix had channeled electricity from the carpet under her folded knees to the tingling skin at the nape of her neck, channeled it even from the very excited crackle that seemed to fill the air in her immediate space. A dark and dangerous pool was beginning to open up in her mind because Bellatrix had been to one or two meetings before and the spells, potions, charms, jinxes, and curses that Rabastan had mentioned had kept her dreaming in blood for several nights. She pointedly took shallow and steadying breaths while Rabastan began the meeting._

_Rabastan had awed Bellatrix because he was adept at Invisibility Charms (which he had used on each of them, making the secret meeting that much more rich and pleasurable). He was talking about his Christmas holidays, and the tremendous secret he had been carrying. Rabastan Lestrange was a big, hulking boy with handsome brown eyes and a blocky nose. Bellatrix had sat next to Rodolphus–who had secretly put his hand on hers–and she had the faint intuition of an excited thirteen-year-old that Rodolphus was jealous of his brother. If this had been any other night, Rodolphus’ hand might have mattered._

_But Bellatrix was there for that pounding moment when Rabastan would show them what he had been telling them about and let them in on that big secret, the biggest of all the ones before. The thing Bellatrix craved: a mark of entrance into that family that lived and died together for one brilliant wizard’s cause._

_When Rabastan had pulled back the sleeve of his robe, she had almost shrieked in delighted, utter abandon. The Dark Lord had actually touched his flesh. Right on his brawny forearm, he had spelled out her future for her. She had loved the writhing snake found there like she had loved no other._

__Bellatrix almost giggled at the pure, black rush that flooded her chest on the tide those memories. Everything, everything within everyone’s reaches if only one could be brave enough to tap into the wellspring of Dark Power. So simple and so potent. It was a sign of Bellatrix Black’s true self that she had fallen in love with Dark Magic before she had fallen in love with anyone else.

Her sister’s determined crying interrupted her gleeful reverie. Bellatrix glanced at the clock before she looked to Narcissa’s face. Almost time. Her veins were pounding under her ivory skin.

“Cissy,”� rapped out Bellatrix authoritatively. “Pay attention. I’m going to leave now. Make sure the girls in my room don’t lock the doors, but _do not wait up for me_. If I find you in the Common Room when I come back, I will be very angry.”� She didn’t know it, but only the Slytherin dorms had locks on the doors.

Narcissa nodded and left without a word. With a try at a smile, Bellatrix looked at her mirror. She made sure she was too beautiful for Rodolphus to deserve and rechecked that her knickers were the right ones. She gave her glossy dark head a final flick with the brush.

Sex was nothing. If that was what Rodolphus needed, Bellatrix would get it over with. Nothing was as critical as ensuring that she was still welcomed into the corps of Slytherins who still kept in contact with Rabastan and learned something of the doings of the Death Eater movement. _Death Eater_. Bellatrix’ hair prickled at the dark caress conjured up by those two unspoken words. Keeping Rodolphus basically happy was everything. Sex _was_ nothing. Narcissa was too stupid to understand. Too stupid by far.

In the black hours between midnight and dawn, when Bellatrix snuck back into the Common Room and sniveled and sobbed alone in a musty armchair, she made herself not wish that Narcissa had stayed awake for her. 

 

\---

 

I really only ever imagined Bellatrix to love Voldemort in an Evil!love way, never to love Rodolphus. I imagine him as sort of a feeb (maybe he was never evil or powerful enough, or something). She's too good for him. I'm not sure if it's worth it for me to keep saying I don't like Bellatrix though. Thanks for reading.

And blame my funky computer for not letting me do paragraph indents here. I honestly don't know what's going on.


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